Life Without Meaning
by KatyGrace
Summary: It was her duty to pull him out of the darkness of his off days; just as it was his duty to hoist her up on hers. Their goal was for the bright days to outnumber the dark. So when he became a sword, she became his shield. CC x Lelouch. Post-R2. It's difficult adjusting to a new eternity, but the best way to fight one's demons is with the help of a witch. R&R!


**AN:**

**I originally planned to upload this in chapters, but I couldn't find a way to cohesively divide it and I think it's most suitably read in its full form. After all, 3,000 words isn't too much for one chapter.**

****There are some directly quoted scenes from the show in here. I thought they fit in the setting.****

**I hope you like this :) It is a favorite piece of mine I wrote in January/February, fresh after watching Code Geass and thus freshly infatuated with this amazing pairing. **

**I hope you enjoy it. R&amp;R!**

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**Life Without Meaning**

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**_Episode 1 - Morning. 8:20 AM. 03 June 2021 a.t.b._**

The old woman turned and smiled.

Ostensibly, she appeared to be no older than sixteen; her waist-length hair was a strikingly unusual shade of lime, and her pale skin barren of wrinkles indicated her biological youth. However, her amber eyes, shrouded by her untamed bangs, were wrought with pain and sadness, betraying her true age. Yet lately, her gold eyes had regained a youthful passion she had lost hundreds of years prior, for her true wish had finally come true. She buried herself further into the comforter, her hands tucked into the long sleeves of the oversized shirt she had playfully stolen from him years ago. She closed her eyes again as a warm hand entangled itself in her green mane.

The young man turned and smiled.

One would gamble that he could be no older than eighteen. His glossy hair was obsidian black, spiked up slightly at the nape of his neck; and his eyes were a violent shade of violet. He was tall yet slender; lean yet athletically underwhelming; masculine yet graceful. His lithe frame hid itself under the folds of his crisp white shirt as he gently combed his fingers through her hair.

When he stood, he towered over her; he approached six foot while she was, at most, five foot four, much to her chagrin. Yet in spite of their height disparity, they were equally intimidating.

Her gold eyes were stoic and mysterious; she carried her svelte figure with a haughty indifference; and her dispassionate voice and icy demeanor caused malaise in the consciences of the most confident of men.

His gaze was cold and calculating; he captured the attention of anyone in his presence; and his violet eyes could bore holes into the boldest and make their egos falter. He was so composed and put together that he emanated a regal aura reminiscent of a medieval prince.

But hidden behind his calm and collected facade laid vehement emotions of frustration, misery, and remorse; in the first few months he was prone to sporadic outbursts and would-be-lethal self harm.

But when he became a blade, she became his sheath.

But when he became a sword, she became his shield.

She was the only one who could soothe his nerves, other than the rhythm of the constant ebb and flow of the tide that blanketed their private beach.

A modest cottage stood on the edge of a cliff, hanging over a beach assaulted by the perpetual crashing of salty waves on a rocky shore. Seagulls were few and far between, but she could always see at least one circling the skies above in search of prey. Near the sea, the air was brisk and the breezes were spirited; it was as if the earth itself was trying to boost the morale of two of its most somber inhabitants. Patches of feathery grass were interspersed with piles of jagged stones and pools of fine sand that dotted the landscape; the sweet-smelling flowers of the many lush meadows danced and writhed in the wind; and the tallest trees grew in pairs while the shortest grew alone.

He had been unaging for a short time, a mere few years, but it had already begun taking its toll on his mental state. But she was there. She had experienced the crushing solitude and surreal reality of immortality for hundreds of years. When she broke, he was her rock; and when he wept, she was the cloth that wiped the tears of his sins away. She had always been there; even when he had lost everything she stubbornly remained at his side. She was there because she had too had lost everything, centuries ago, but she had found a new reason to go on.

A contract.

No, a promise.

A promise to stop accumulating experience and finally start living.

She chided herself for her own naivety daily, almost laughing derisively aloud at the paradox. An immortal was anything but alive.

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..

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**_Episode 2 - Blood. 2:30 PM. 27 September 2017 a.t.b._**

"He musn't die!"

Her green hair billowed behind her as the girl rushed to his aid, leaping in front of him to shield his body with her own. He couldn't see the bullet; it was too fast; he merely heard a loud bang and a rapid whirring as the bullet lodged itself deep into her skull. A dark stain began enveloping the collar of her white straitjacket, and she fell with a soft thud into a puddle of her own blood. He stared at her lifeless body in horror; he was next. Her sacrifice was in vain. He had nothing to defend himself.

He hadn't done anything wrong; he was an innocent bystander who had inadvertently managed to get tangled into a mess he didn't even fully understand. When he stopped his road bike to try and help a crashed truck, he never could have imagined that the vehicle contained a poisonous gas bomb and had been hijacked by terrorists. When the terrorist opened the capsule, he was startled to find a mysterious, green-haired girl bound and gagged in a straitjacket in place of the lethal biological weapon he had braced himself for.

His body jolted upright when a bloody hand roughly grabbed his arm.

_Do you want to survive?_ a woman's voice echoed.

_The girl? _he thought._ But that's impossible! She was shot in the head!_

_Do you want to survive? _she asked again, and then paused._ I can see that you have a reason for living_, she noted, and an image of his crippled little sister flashed in his mind. He breathed heavily, distraught with fear.

_I can grant you the power to get out of this situation, _she said.

_I propose a deal - in exchange for this power, you must make my one true wish come true, _her voice reverberated through his skull. A large man took a step towards him: it was the same soldier who had shot her. He could not begin to comprehend the sheer depravity of a soldier who could pull the trigger of a gun with no hesitation directly at the forehead of an unarmed young girl.

"Well, schoolboy, are you ready to die?" the leader sneered, pointing his gun outward, at his chest. He gritted his teeth, and his violet eyes began to burn with tears of frustration.

_The Power of The King will condemn you to a life of solitude. Do you accept this contract_? the woman's voice asked, and this time he responded.

"Yes. Yes, I accept the terms of your contract!"

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..

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**_Episode 3 - Snow. 9:30 AM. 19 December 2017 a.t.b._**

"C.C., what are you doing here?" he inquired, the irritation in his voice clear. He approached the green-haired witch tentatively with his mask in the crook of his arm.

"I said I would protect you, didn't I?" she replied casually, remaining faced away from him, standing obstinately upon the fragile cliff edge. He sighed.

"Yes, but aren't you overdoing it?"

Ignoring him, she asked, "Lelouch, why _are_ you called Lelouch?"

"I don't have time to discuss philosophy with you," he replied dismissively.

"You changed your last name to Lamperouge, but you kept the name Lelouch, the one your mother gave you. How sentimental," she said, a subtle hint of scorn in her monotone voice.

His retort was icy. "Well, C.C. swings to the other extreme, doesn't it? It's not a human name." A strong gust of wind shook both of them as C.C. turned around abruptly to face him, and his eyes widened slightly in surprise. Her face remained emotionless as gentle flakes began descending from the cloudy sky.

"Lelouch, do you know why snow is white?" she asked softly as the powder began dotting her hair.

"Hmm?" he murmured, curious.

Her smile was a mixture of sorrow and nostalgia.

"Snow is white because it has forgotten what color it once was."

.

..

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**_Episode 4 - Zero's Mistress? 6:50 PM. 21 December 2017 a.t.b._**

Kallen ran towards the cave in a frenzy, her spiked red hair bouncing up and down in rhythm with her jog; she was desperate to find her leader and get him to safety after his unit had been decimated. She saw the familiar gleam of a mask and called out, "Master Zero! I - " she paused abruptly. "Who's that?"

A motionless woman with peculiar green hair stood adjacent to the masked vigilante. Her straitjacket was ragged, with a notable gash in the fabric on her bosom. Zero turned to look at the strange woman and replied, "Oh? You needn't worry. She is a very important friend."

The woman - or rather girl, she appeared older at first glance - let out a small breath and stared at him for what Kallen felt was an eternity. Through this, she realized - this woman knew.

Zero turned towards the girl and said, "C.C., I don't know why snow is white."

She looked at him with solemn gold eyes, silent.

"But I do think snow is beautiful."

She took a moment to process his words before she calmly replied, "I see."

Mystified, Kallen asked no further questions and led them out of the cave, feeling elated to find Zero's whereabouts but also somewhat nauseated - perhaps out of envy.

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..

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**_Episode 5 - Days. 9:20 AM. 03 June 2021 a.t.b._**

The witch licked her lips after her third helping when she noticed his untouched plate. "Someone has no appetite today," she crooned at the slouched figure sitting across from her. Her partner looked at her with disdain.

"Even after a hundred years, you still don't tire of pizza. Why?" he sighed, more to himself than to her, as he prodded the cold slice with his finger. _When was this damn food invented anyway?_ he mentally griped. When she tugged at the crust, he pushed his plate towards her. She gnawed at the pizza hungrily before observing the unnatural stillness of his posture.

"Is something wrong, Lelouch?" she asked quietly, trying to decipher his expression. For most people, his face was exceptionally perplexing to understand due to its fine line between calm complacency and silent seething. Yet she could read him like a book; they shared a special bond.

But occasionally, he was penned in cryptic old English. And, to her irritation, scratched in handwriting that rivaled the illegibility of an arthritic doctor's scribbles.

"I'm fine," he said stiffly, resting his face on his knuckles. But she wasn't fooled.

"So, what does 'Lelouch' mean?" she mused, changing the subject with total disregard for a segue - that was her style. He chuckled.

"Haven't we had this conversation before?"

She raised an eyebrow, aware of his impending answer. "Have we? When?"

He closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair, folding his arms behind his head. "Several years ago, right before the Battle of Narita during the Black Rebellion. Did you forget so quickly?"

She would have winced, but her emotions were veiled far more expertly than his; she had had centuries of practice. She began tracing gooey circles on a piece of portabella, feeling slightly stung and a little pugnacious in response to his challenging her memory - something he knew she was especially sensitive about. "You're quite wrong," she scoffed, "I asked you _why_ you were called Lelouch, not what the silly-sounding name means."

"Silly-sounding? You didn't seem to think it was silly last night when you were - "

C.C. leaned over to push a finger to his lips to silence him. "Oh please, Lelouch; do you expect me to become flustered over a low blow like that?" His lips twitched under her hand and his cheeks reddened as she leered over him. She giggled, "You're much more of a prude than I am."

He snatched her finger away from his face and roughly pushed her back into her chair. Ouch. He was having an off day. It was her duty to pull him out of the darkness of his off days; just as it was his duty to hoist her up on hers. Their goal was for the bright days to outnumber the dark.

She tried to make eye contact, but his scowl remained fixated on the table, his lips still tightly pressed together. When the weight of the silence began to plague her, she asked, "So? What does 'Lelouch' mean?"

He shrugged and took a soundless sip of tea. He wasn't allowed coffee. He couldn't sleep at night as it was.

"Tch, with all your preening and posturing... I would have expected a boy as arrogant as you to have searched up your name already," she snickered, "to bask in the infamy."

"Me, arrogant?" he huffed, "Says the selfish witch who makes me cook all our food - "

She interrupted him with faceful of green hair, wrapping her arms playfully around his neck. "Impudent boy," she tutted, bonking him on the nose. "Who sweeps the house?"

"I do," he replied, deadpan, and she giggled. "I also do the dishes, vacuum, and take out the trash, you lazy liar." She could see the corners of his stiff lips loosening. _Success._

"Oh, right. Well, I _do_ do all the laundry," she offered, and his calloused but gentle hands found their way around her wrists. "And mind you, Lelouch, I help a lot more now than I used to."

His smile was tentative but genuine, and he kissed her palm, admitting defeat. "Yeah, I'll give you that. You used to order me around like a slave."

Her sly grin resembled that of the Cheshire Cat. "What, are you implying that you no longer are?"

.

..

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**_Episode 6 - Gems. 11:30 AM - 21 June 2021 a.t.b._**

Her favorite gemstone was a tie between the arcane aquamarine, the ominous obsidian, and the mesmerizing amethyst. His was a tie between the feminine rose quartz and a hardened tree resin that wasn't even a true gemstone - amber - for whatever reason.

She absently vowed to trek to the gift shop later, hypnotized by the cerulean. Her heart, aside from laying in his palm, often sung to the ocean - her rationality for her liking aquamarine.

Petting the rough edges of the black stone, she explained her affinity for the obsidian with a coherent, "It's dark and curious." He replied with a nudge, "It suits an enigma like you."

When interrogated on the reason behind her preference for amethyst, she stumbled, "Well, it is quite gorgeous… It's both elegant and regal… And, um, well, it _is_ the color of royalty." When she saw his mischievous grin, she blushed. "All right, stupid, it's the color of your eyes." His reward - a peck on the cheek - was accompanied by a threatening, "You owe me a pizza," growled in his ear. He rolled his eyes.

She grabbed his hand and maneuvered her way into the second, and perhaps even more brilliant, gem exhibit. His breath hitched in his throat as his hand reached out to caress the stone. His first love was the gentle rose quartz - a sweet pink that embodied the unsullied purity of his little sister and the unbridled kindness of his deceased half-sister, both of whom he missed terribly had not seen in many years. She distracted him when his tear ducts began to sting, reading aloud the discovery sites of each of her favorite stones, quizzing him on details afterwards to keep his prodigal mind on its toes and away from his demons.

He found his next love when his eyes came across the shimmering gold casket of an ancient butterfly. His fingers grazed the gleaming fossil, and he was speechless from awe until she childishly ribbed his sides. He refused to look up, dreading the smug grin plastered on her face. When he did, he took his face into hers and held her close; when they emerged he laced his fingers with hers.

"Is this your favorite? But it's not even a true gemstone," she pouted, awaiting his answer. Her pools of flawless amber were crestfallen when he remained silent.

"You're right. It's not a true gemstone; it's not a mineral," he said after a moment, draping his arm over her petite shoulders as her brow furrowed deeper. He explained, "But that's everyone's _mistake_. The other stones - they may be gorgeous and dazzling, but they lack depth."

Her eyes well with tears of an emotion she had never truly experienced before. She rarely, if ever, showed any emotion or affection; but she could feel her willpower to maintain her composure slipping away as her heartbeat grew faster. _Damn, this is a public place. Hormones?_

Captivated by the shimmering gold, he then castigated the vast collection he had just adored: "They lack substance. They refract light in a way that appeals to our eyes, and so they are sold for high prices." He edged over to another specimen: a menacing spider encased in hardened fluid. "The resin contains something that eclipses the empty cores of all the other minerals."

"B-but most people run away," she interjected, her voice quivering. "With something as despised as a spider at the core, who… who would consider amber to have any value?"

He traced the outline of the arachnid's body. "Most people don't try to appreciate what's beneath the resin. They think that the exterior is too hard; the outer shell cold; and the inside not worth unveiling. The amber has been around for hundreds of years, capturing an insect in secret hopes of having someone find them and treasure them."

He had always had a way with words, but this was ridiculous. The tears brimming in her eyes began to overflow, and he wiped them away with a swift flick of his wrist. "But…"

"But?"

His smile made her melt. "But I think that the spider in the center is what makes amber the most beautiful gem of all. After all, 'the flower that blooms in adversity is the most beautiful flower of all,'" he recited, grinning with an uncharacteristic mirth. She smacked him upside the head with a watery smile, her face streaked with drying tears.

"You... you stole that quote from Mulan!"

He nodded, unabashed, laughing hysterically as she assaulted him in playful anger: poking and prodding his torso and face with an accusing finger, her green hair flying wildly in all directions. "You saccharine idiot! Did you have to go and make me all emotional like that?"

He held up his hands in surrender, smirking, "You did that all on your own. And who are you calling saccharine, your favorite gemstone is '_the color of my eyes_,'" he swooned, mocking her. She spluttered indignantly, jabbing an index finger to the center of his chest.

"What happened to '_amber is the most beautiful gemstone because they match the color of your eyes_', you dumb hypocrite?!"

"Who said it was because of your eyes? I said it was because I like spiders." _Tch, liar._

She sighed heavily, resigned to their fate. "Face it, you're a hopeless romantic."

"So are you," he quipped, and she laughed a little bitterly.

"Funny how an immortal witch could be a hopeless romantic."

He came closer, encasing her in his arms and resting his forehead on hers. "Didn't I tell you, C.C.?" She peered up at him in surprise.

"If you are a witch, then I will become a warlock."

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..

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**AN:**

**Ugh, I could never decide on how to title each episode. **Just underline? **Too stagnant. ****Just bold? ****Eh. ****Bold and underline****?****Too, well... bold. **_Just italicize? _**Needs a border underneath, like this. **_Italicize and underline? _Nah. _**All three?**_Fine. It's subject to change, still.

Also wtf I couldn't decide what to do for episode breaks, the line thing looks kind of terrible so I went with dots. Hate me. I'll probably mess around with the formatting again later.

Anyway, I hope you liked it. If you did, please review and tell me your thoughts :)


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